


Touch of the Stranger - Whisper of Danger

by Ramzes



Series: The Flash of a Star: The Dyanna Dayne Chronicles [9]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: F/M, Multi, Triggers for disease
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-24
Updated: 2015-11-14
Packaged: 2018-04-27 23:29:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,683
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5069038
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ramzes/pseuds/Ramzes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Two years before the First Blackfyre Rebellion, Dyanna Dayne is faced with an enemy that her husband's mace cannot touch.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Her second time in the birthing bed was much easier than her first one. He just slipped out after a short labour – at least short compared to the agony that Daeron's coming into the world had been. Although exhausted, she still had the energy to prop herself on her elbow and watch as they bathed and dressed him before bringing him to her. She was so intent on him that the maesters had to remind her that she had the afterbirth to expel. She did so without as much of a moan. Afterbirths didn't have big heads.

To her enormous relief, he was clearly very vigorous, squirming in her arms and trying to remove the hat they put on him as soon as they did. The midwife put it back; he tried to take it off again. Dyanna laughed and noticed that this one would clearly have Maekar's fair hair. The wetnurse even said so as she approached the bed. Dyanna's laughter stopped and she watched intently as the woman put him to the breast. Sometimes babes, even vigorous ones, could not take suck. But her new son did and she reclined back against her pillows, waiting for the moment the maesters would tell her that enough time had passed and she could go to sleep. She would do so with the content of a job well done.

Her milk came in, furiously, at the fourth day after the birth – but Aerion did not want it. He took the nipple eagerly but immediately after, as soon as he drew some milk, he'd spit the nipple as if it was bitter, sometimes coughing so hard that Dyanna was afraid he'd choke. Nothing could fool him into swallowing, even when the maesters smeared Dyanna's nipples with honey. He took suck from the wetnurse but not his mother, no matter how many efforts and tears Dyanna spent. But that didn't stop him from lacerating her nipple with his mouth, just like Daeron, who had been nursed at her breast for more than a year, had.

Finally, she had to stop trying. She had no other choice. Bandaging her breasts was almost as bad as the lacerations. And drying up would take weeks, it seemed. Not days.

"I can't wait for it to happen," Maekar said one night as she squeezed herself dry. "I hate seeing you in pain."

She glanced at the looking-glass to check that he wasn't looking. She didn't want him to see her like this, her nipples red and crackled as if a monster had mangled them, and so far, Maekar had respected her wishes, although he had proclaimed them foolish. Like him, though, Dyanna had started to count the days until she'd be considered recovered enough to resume her marital duties.

"In a month, it'll be over," she assured him. "You won't need to bandage battle wounds."

"It is indeed a battle," he said, seriously, unlike her jape. "And you are a good man-at-arms, Dyanna. I thank you for this."

"A _woman_ -at-arms, if you please," she replied, inspecting the damages. At some places, the skin of her breast looked sunken. She reached for it with the warm cloth and then froze. There it was, under her fingers. A growth. She glanced at her husband's reflection to make sure that he still wasn't watching and reached for the lump under her skin. She felt tension. She felt the growth. It was there. She hadn't imagined it. And it was a real growth, not a spot next to a hollow left by a babe's mouth.

_Perhaps it will go away_ , Dyanna thought. But it didn't. Every morning, after Maekar had left and before she was attired, she checked and the lump was still there. _It's nothing_ , she told herself as she went through her day. She was barely nineteen. Those who suffered such growths were older women. Much older. But when she was finally disrobed, it was there. It was real. It did not give her pain but it was in a place where she experienced constant pain anyway – the pain of drying milk and torn breasts, the pain the coiled snake had left in its wake.

Dyanna knew that women died of such things. She was scared of the Stranger. But she was also ashamed. How could such a thing happen to someone as young as her? Why was she so marked? If the thing in her breast didn't go away, would it grow bigger? Would it be noticeable? Would Maekar see it? The very idea terrified her. In their four years of marriage, she had come to believe that he did think her beautiful, that he cherished her looks. Would he turn away from her if this growth disfigured her, deformed her? Would the people start talking about the poor lady who must have done something terrible to merit such a disease? She couldn't sleep at night, clinging to Maekar in mute fear that she could not admit. Nightmares, she said when he woke up to her shaking, and when he took her in his arms, giving her his own warmth, she believed that the whole thing was a nightmare. For a moment or two.

But the lump kept growing, or so Dyanna thought. Either way, her panic that her husband might see it started consuming her nights. When she took Daeron in her lap, she was careful to rest him against her other breast. And lately, he had started clinging to her all the time. His nursemaid said that he, too, had started having nightmares. "It's as if he picks up on your own night demons, Your Grace," she said.

"I have no night demons," Dyanna snapped.

The next few nights, she took her son into their own bedchamber where she quickly realized that Zabra was right. Daeron did look tormented by her own nightmares, as if she was giving them to him. He became even harder to manage at day, whimpering about an evil thing that lived in his mother. Fortunately, no one paid attention to the ramblings of a child of three.

Days went by in a flurry of fear and hope. One night, Maekar stood behind her chair as she sat before the looking-glass and took the silver hairbrush in hand.

Terror rushed through Dyanna and almost made her bolt. Today! She had forgotten! Today the usual recovery period after childbirth had ended. Maekar clearly expected and wanted her to accept him as his wife. He might feel the excrescence if he touched her there – and he did that a lot, often. In fact, he might soon get to wonder why Dyanna no longer drew his head to her breast and kept it there for a long time. The slight pressure had proven a great relief from the pain where the snake had coiled.

"I… I am not ready yet, Maekar," she said. At this critical moment, her talent for lying had abandoned her. She could not think of a single reason to give him that would sound even remotely plausible. "I am not up to it yet."

To her relief, he didn't look doubtful. But in fact, he had no reason to be. She had always shown her fondness for their marital bed without shyness. He probably thought that she was still tired, that all would fall in place in the next few days. She had perhaps one week to think of something else.

* * *

"You look very frail," her goodmother said as they sat in the garden, under the chestnut trees with their embroideries. "Do you not eat?"

Dyanna smiled to show that it was nothing and rose to tear a leaf and draw it along her cheek.

Pain shot through her, so sharp and unexpected that she gasped. A sword was tearing her breast, sending waves of pain to her armpit from the place that dreaded growth was. _Well_ , Dyanna thought numbly, _here it is, finally. The pain._ She fell back into her chair with an audible thud that made the two other women share a look.

"I think you should see the Grand Maester, Dyanna," Jena said carefully. "I think you're ill."

That was the first time her goodsister let herself make such a comment. The two women were unfailingly polite to each other but they had little to talk about. Dyanna knew that Jena disapproved of her, her gowns, her barely checked ebullience and wild imagination. If she's ready to say something like this to me, I must look like someone on their way to the Stranger, Dyanna thought and vowed to herself that from now on, she'd force herself to eat and rest in bed, even if she couldn't actually sleep. She'd drink potions that would make her blood stronger. She'd do anything, except for showing her breast to someone, even the Grand Maester. He'd immediately go to the King. Dyanna's health was, unfortunately, a matter that concerned more people than she had counted on upon her marriage. And then her goodfather would undoubtedly tell Maekar. And her goodmother. At the end, her husband would turn away from the vileness that she harboured in her breast. People would pity her, fear her, disdain her. No!

"I am fine, Jena," she said and even managed a smile. "As ever."

That night, she _saw_ the excrescence for the very first time. It wasn't going anywhere. It was staying. It was growing. All that she had heard of the demon exploded in her head: the rupture, the fetid lesions, the pain that made women howl like beasts…

"What?" Maekar asked sharply, coming to her side. Since her repeated avoidance of lovemaking, he had become crosser than usual. Dyanna feared that it was only a matter of time before he found himself a whore. "You spend half the night naked in front of this looking-glass. You have recovered, don't you see? You've more than regained your figure – in fact, a little more weight would only do you good. Even so, you're the most beautiful woman in Westeros, so stop obsessing."

Dyanna rose, turned around and went to put her nightgown on. "And what are you going to do if you lose the most beautiful woman in Westeros?" she asked, careful to keep her voice playful.

Maekar stayed where he was, only turning to look at her. "Do you plan to run away with a stable boy or something?" he inquired. "If so, you're very stupid to warn me."

"I'll make sure to leave a note," she assured him, ducking under the covers. "Come here. I'm cold."

He came near but didn't climb in. "Do not jest about it," he warned.

"Fine," Dyanna agreed. "I won't. But you must answer me."

Mighty Seven, it was so hard to preserve her face even and her voice undisturbed when all she wanted was to howl out to the world in debilitating fear!

He lay down and drew her close.

"I don't know. I don't want to go back to the way it was before, never. It was… lonely."

Now, the tears that she had held at bay stung her eyes. Such an admission was a very hard one for Maekar and it only underlined his faith in her. "It was lonely for me too," she whispered.

"Not in the same way. You reach out and draw people to you. Somewhere along the way, this was let out with me. Before I was even born, I think. Out of everyone I know, I am the one closeness and affection come hardest to. If you lose me, you'll grieve but you'll still find hope and comfort in people and things in life that you delight in. If I lose you, I think I'll just turn into the empty shell I was meant to be."

Dyanna snuggled closer. All of a sudden, she felt so guilty, so foul. Almost all of her fears had been about her alone. She had barely thought what her death might mean to him or her two small children. Now she did – but what could those concern change? _Perhaps if I don't think about it, it won't be there_ , she told herself. "I was just being stupid," she murmured. "You know, my imagination running wild again."

He laughed softly. "I've missed your… err, imagination," he said. "Just not when it grows so dark. Next time, I'd rather have you ask me to kill an Other for you."

_Kill the growth for me instead_ , she thought but this gift from the Stranger was an enemy that Maekar's mace could not reach.

For now, he had accepted her explanation. But for how long? By the Seven, for how long?

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone who commented, you're a great muse… errr, great muses?

She knew the answer the day the growth ruptured, right there in the great hall as around her the evening feast was taking place. She was doing her best to ignore the searing pain as she was listening to Rohanne of Tyrosh talking about her children when the other woman suddenly paused and asked, "Should I summon the Grand Maester?"

"No," Dyanna said, summoning all her willpower to not scream with horror as she felt her skin breaking and something flowing out from the wound. She needed even more efforts to restrain herself not to look down. She knew that the cut of her gown cut the growth, so it should be hiding the wound, whatever it was. A faint smell wafted to her nostrils and she clenched her throat and lips not to throw up. The discharge, whatever it was, was smelling vile and she fought the desperate urge to rise and run before anyone else could feel it. Only later would she get to learn that her sudden silence and clear lack of interest to what Rohanne was saying – indeed, she didn't even notice when the other woman stopped talking – would be taken as a new proof for the disdain King Daeron's family showed toward Daemon Blackfyre. Now, she was focused only on making it to the end without showing that there was something wrong.

That night, she sent all her handmaidens away and took a deep breath before lifting her shift and staring boldly into the looking-glass. The wound was red-whitish and dripping, and fierce. Dyanna slowly forced her unwilling fingers to touch it and they came wet with blood and puss. The brief contact sent a new flare of pain up and sideways, to her armpit.

Perhaps it would heal, now that it had broken.

Dyanna went to the curtain concealing the basin and washing items that she used before she went to bed. She reached for a linen, dipped it in the water prepared for her face and almost screamed when she touched it to the wound. The burning sensation sent her reeling back. It took a while before she regained control over her hands enough to soak the linen into cold water. Now. That was better.

The heavy curtains on her windows suddenly sprang to life with the dance of torches from the outside. A squad of guards was going to relieve the ones who currently stood on their posts. That meant that the hour of the bat had come! How had she let herself lose her awareness of time?

Prompted by her fear, Dyanna ran back into the main chamber and threw her nightgown on. It didn't look nearly as nice as when her women or Maekar helped her arrange it but it hid her from view. She sat in a chair and was just reaching for the book she had been trying to read lately when her husband entered.

"By the Seven, what a day!" he murmured, barely sparing her a look. "I didn't really believe my father would receive him with honours. What's next, finding a torch to better look for trouble with?"

Dyanna could never be accused of feeling undue favour for Daemon Blackfyre but she could understand her goodfather's hope and efforts to avoid conflicts. Maekar turned to her expectantly. "Are you going to tell me what your problem with Lady Rohanne was?"

She wasn't quick to answer. She was thinking of how he never said _the Tyroshi woman_ but _Lady_ _Rohanne_. How often had he heard his mother being referred to as _the Dornishwoman_? More than he could count, most likely. That was what Dyanna was called behind her back by many as well. She had been surprised to find out that she and the Essosi lady had many things in common. Perhaps under different circumstances, they could have been friends. Of course, they barely saw each other since Rohanne spent most of her time in their seat being with child or recovering after giving birth to one as Daemon did his thing at court.

"What do you mean?" she asked.

"I was seated too far away to see for myself but word has it that you didn't even tried to feign listening to what she was telling you. That you have derided her."

_Mother help me!_ The last thing she wanted was to offend Rohanne… or draw her goodfather's disfavour to herself and Maekar. His antipathy for Daemon was well-known; if her goodfather believed that she had meant to disdain Rohanne publicly, he'd probably decide that Maekar had put her to it.

"I am sorry," she said quietly. "I was just thinking. I didn't realize that I was ignoring her. I'll try to make up."

For a moment, he stared at her but Dyanna had learned to keep her face away from the lamplight in their chambers.

"You'll do no such thing," Maekar finally said. "You're entitled to your own thoughts. And you didn't actually scorn or insult her. I will not have you abase yourself for nothing."

Perhaps Dyanna should have insisted out of fear of making things worse. But then, Maekar started undressing and she forgot about Rohanne of Tyrosh. "Stop!"

He paused and gave her a bewildered look.

"You cannot stay here," Dyanna said quickly. Even if he didn't see the abscess, she could not let him sleep in a bed where blood and puss leaked from her incessantly. Only the Seven knew if she wouldn't get him ill with something. "I don't feel this good and I'll sleep better if I'm alone in bed."

Maekar clearly thought that this was the biggest lie she had ever told him. She had always insisted that she rested better when he was here where he belonged – when headaches rendered her mindless, when she had been in the final days of her pregnancies even. Only three days after both births, she had invited him back in. "What's wrong with you?" he finally asked, still looking at her incredulously.

Dyanna looked away. She was tired of rising before him so she could paint her face before he saw the cruel marks there. She was tired of fearing that his hand would accidentally brush against her breast and feel the growth. But she was ready to do it to no end if it would keep him at her side. Without him, the bed was too big; without his warmth next to her, she was just the Dornishwoman who should have never aspired so high.

But it was much easier for him to see now. And Dyanna would never forgive herself if the vile discharge harmed him in any way.

"Please, Maekar, not now," she said. "I am tired. Let's not get into it. I'll just sleep better if you aren't here, that's all."

The wound was so painful, so unsightly. She could not let him see it. Until it healed over, he should not see her naked. He would never look at her the same way again if he did. But could she really use the means she knew were going to work? Her whole being rose against it. Using weak spots that had always made her fiercely protective of him, turning confidences shared as they lay on one pillow against him? No, she couldn't.

But she didn't need to. Silently, he turned and left the bedchamber without looking back.

Dyanna slumped down in her chair. _Just for a while_ , she told herself _. Just until it heals over. It'll be only a few days,_ she reassured herself and that helped her not to call him back.

* * *

It didn't heal over. Not in a few days, not in a few weeks. In about a month, it engulfed much of her breast. The pains accompanying its growing were such that sometimes, she woke up at night unable to move a muscle as the demon cackled, grabbing her breast, twisting it, lancing it with needles of fire until the Stranger shrugged and released her for that night. She drank milk of the poppy, increasing the amount without noticing until one day, she fell asleep and dropped Aerion on the floor. Till the end of her life, she wouldn't forget the moment she woke up some time later and saw her arms empty and her babe on the carpet. When she grabbed him, her heart leaping out of her chest, she thanked the Seven for her own lavish ways. The extremely thick Myrish carpet had cushioned the fall. Aerion was just sleeping, not feeling the least bit inconvenienced. In fact, he started wailing the moment his mother snatched him from his comfortable place and started examining him for injuries, shaking with fear.

_I am getting dangerous_ , Dyanna thought despairingly _. For everyone._ From this day on, she was careful to never stay alone with the children. Soon, it turned to shortening her time with them overall – she couldn't hold them and she was in too much pain to be able to pay attention to what they did for long.

"Remove the evil thing, Mama," Daeron said again and again, imploring her.

_I wish I could_ , she answered in her head and wondered how he could know. He seemed to know many things that he shouldn't and that made her worry about him.

Pain started encroaching upon every aspect of her life, as much as it encroached upon her beauty. Pain and exhaustion. Everything was too much for her, even the aromas of her beloved gardens. Soon, Dyanna found herself unable to keep all of her old ways – she simply didn't have enough endurance. She had to choose what she'd give up and the first thing to go away as her afternoons of poetry and music where the best in the lands attended. Then, word had it that she stopped returning visits to her guests – and it was true. Just not out of haughtiness as people believed. She started alternating between charities and petitions – and retiring early from the evening feasts. She had staked everything on the belief that as long as she made public appearances looking as glamorous as possible, people would not think twice of the reasons she was cutting those appearances short. They didn't.

And Maekar had not tried to get back to her bedchamber even once. She had not truly expected him to. He was a proud man. He'd never intrude where he wasn't wanted. But the indifference he was facing her reluctance to admit him back was very troubling. In the beginning, he had searched for her eye with a silent question, a hope that he'd never speak aloud. He no longer did. Was it possible that he had already found someone else? If so, Dyanna would look even more hideous to him. He'd refrain from seeing her even more. But that was a cold comfort at night when she lay paralyzed with pain and wanting him back, vowing that in the morning, she'd tell him to come back. She never did.

She was now bathing in private and donning her shift on her own, so her handmaidens would have nothing to talk about. She swaddled her breast in three or four layers of soft linens that would absorb the discharge that kept leaking and mitigate the disgusting stench as much as possible. By now, the lesion was red and black, and grainy. Like rot. Her flesh was rotting and Dyanna could no longer deny to herself the reality of it.

But the person who first saw the abscess was not one of her women. It was her goodsister, the Princess of Dragonstone. Dyanna couldn't believe her bad luck – to have the most agonizing attack of pain in Jena's presence! She didn't cry out but she couldn't stop her body from reaction, from collapsing on the floor – and then Jena saw.

Dyanna was very grateful to her for not revealing her secret to anyone. For a day and a half. Because as the night of the second day grew near, she heard the sound that she had feared for months – the opening of the door as she was in her bathtub, fully exposed.

She'd never forget the horror on Maekar's face when he took in everything that she had tried to hide from him. She looked down to the ugly mess that her flesh had become, determined to stay this way for as long as she lived.

"Gods," Maekar said, barely audibly.

"Did Jena tell you?" she asked behind the curtain of her hair.

"No," he said. "Dyanna, was that it?"

She nodded. Her chin started trembling and she didn't trust herself to speak.

He came close, reached down and took her out of the tub, wrapping her into the soft blue cloth for drying off. Without any effort, he carried her to the fireplace and placed her on the bear pelt closest to it.

The sudden change from warm water to air had left her shivering but Maekar started wiping her immediately. Still looking down, Dyanna followed the movements of his hands, strong and capable to deliver death as easily as she could deliver a good stitch – but they were shaking as they patted her skin with the linen, as if he was afraid to rub her dry.

He covered her with a blanket and Dyanna instinctively curled in a way that wouldn't let the lesion take even the smallest part of its weight.

"Why didn't you tell me?" he finally asked. His voice was hollow, his face set up and Dyanna knew that he understood the meaning of what he saw.

"I was scared," she admitted. What a relief it was to be able to say it! "I didn't want it to be true. I don't want to die, Maekar. I didn't want to have you turn away from me…"

"So you chose _to hide_ from me instead?" He still sounded incredulous but when she nodded, he looked away, fighting an emotion that Dyanna could not recognize. "You thought I would just turn my back on you?"

"It's so ugly, Maekar," she tried to explain. "It's so unsightly, so disfiguring. It robbed me of my beauty, it's filthy and I… I am so ashamed."

" _Ashamed_?" he repeated and then took her hands in his own. "Come here," he murmured and took her in his arms. Dyanna slumped against him, melting with relief. Now, the fact that she had not told him in the beginning made her feel so stupid. She had deprived herself of _this_ for months. "I can't believe that such a smart woman can be so stupid," he added, holding her close.

Now, the sobs came, the weeping of sweet relief. She didn't even try to contain her voice, the tears of release turning to howls of fear and then back. The wetness in her hair told her that he, too, found it hard to contain his emotions.

"Come on," he said when she finally went quiet against him, having exhausted her fears and pain, and relief, and voice. "You need to rest."

They had already missed the first courses of the feast, so Dyanna didn't protest when he put her nightgown on. She even showed him how to help her with her bandages but he only placed one, refusing to stifle the lesion with many layers of cloth. She wanted him to stay here, with her. She had missed him desperately in the separation that she had forced on them. But when he started undressing, alarm won out. "You shouldn't," she said. "It might be… dangerous."

He shrugged her concern off and when he lay down next to her, Dyanna was ready to accept it, accept anything to feel his warmth again.

"The Grand Maester will see you tomorrow," Maekar said and Dyanna silently agreed, snuggling close. There was nothing that she wouldn't do for him, even showing her breast to the Grand Maester despite knowing that it would be no use. No one knew of a cure.

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you, dear everyone, for staying with me!

"Mother," Maekar suddenly asked, "what do you know about the disease that corrodes women's breasts?"

Mariah looked up from the accounts she was checking at her desk and regarded him with surprise. "I am not sure. Why do you ask?"

He didn't answer immediately and when he did, it looked like the words scalded his throat and lips. "Because perhaps that's what Dyanna has."

The scroll fell on the darkly veined surface. The Queen raised a hand to her mouth and then slowly drew it back, her face white. "What?"

"Dyanna thinks she has the corroding disease," her son repeated. "Perhaps she does. She looks quite… Her breast is being eaten away."

Mariah gasped in horror. "But that's a disease that befalls women in their dotage! Not girls Dyanna's age! She's still nineteen! It can't be!"

He nodded. Clearly, he had thought the same thing but the tension around his mouth and eyes told her that he hadn't found comfort in it.

She rose and stood near the desk, as if scared that going near him would make it real. And besides, when she tried to move, she suddenly found out that her limbs had turned to lead.

"I saw the lesion last night," Maekar said. "It's terrible."

Mariah blinked and tried to collect her thoughts. "Last night? The day before that, Dyanna fainted in my chambers but…"

She didn't finish the phrase. Everyone knew that her goodaughter had been practically starving herself. No wonder that she had fainted. That was what everyone had thought.

Maekar shook his head. "It was the growth," he said. "It was because of the growth. She didn't want to tell me because she was afraid that I'd all but leave her. But now I saw it. It's horrible. It's consuming her flesh. No wonder Aerion didn't want to nurse. The thing was already growing in her breast at the time of his birth."

Despite his efforts to sound controlled, his fear was evident. He was standing in the shadow of a small alcove so his mother couldn't see his face. Mariah did not doubt that it was not by chance and that saddened her. What was this, a defense against any hint of vulnerability? He had grown up in shadows – the shadow of his elder brothers, the echo of the poisonous whispers that his birth was an ill omen coinciding with King Aegon's defeat in the campaign against Dorne, the darkness of the bitter knowledge that a fourth son was neither needed nor wanted, especially for a king. He abhorred the idea of showing even a shade of weakness. Or the deeply seated conviction that his fears, his apprehensions, his pain only mattered to him alone? Mariah had been so grateful that finally, she once again had a child in robust health that both maesters and masters-at-arms were pleased with, that didn't need constant supervision and special attention, so she could focus those where they'd be better utilized.

It was his fear that convinced her that there was no mistake. If he let it show so blatantly, that meant that it was an all-consuming one indeed. It immediately leapt onto Mariah as well. "No," she breathed. "Such a thing cannot happen to Dyanna, Maekar, it can't!"

"Perhaps it didn't," he said with sudden hope. "The Grand Maester has yet to examine her. In fact, that's why I came. She'll feel better if you're there… without actually looking at the lesion," he added. "Are you going to come?"

She nodded helplessly. Tears sprang to her eyes for Dyanna and the possibility that he had really meant is as a question just made them fall faster.

* * *

The Queen was truly intent on keeping her word. She'd simply be there, by Dyanna's bed. She wouldn't look at all. She'd just be there for the girl who had left her own mother far behind in Dorne and had clung to her. She'd just keep an eye over Maekar to make sure that he wouldn't do anything that could make the Grand Maester anxious…

Behind the shutters, the first stars were already showing. Dyanna had insisted that the examination take place at night, as if even the sun could not be allowed to see the damage, as if she were a criminal. The firelight drew crimson patterns over the instruments the Grand Maester used to check Dyanna's throat and body warmth to make sure that she was otherwise healthy. Finally, he looked at the troubling spot and the momentary shock and disgust on his face before his usual inscrutable mask fell back prompted her to look down. She almost clapped her hand to her mouth and she was glad that she had managed to stop herself, even if only to be spared the venom in the look Maekar was giving the old man now. Not that her gooddaugher would have noticed; Dyanna's eyes were now closed, tears of shame and mortification cascading under her long dark eyelashes.

The real examination took little time. Mariah could see that the Grand Maester had almost no work to do. Finally, he met the young woman's eye and nodded sadly. Dyanna closed her eyes, unable to listen to his recommendations.

"Tell them to me," Maekar said. "We should give my lady some time to herself."

Dyanna didn't seem to have heard him either.

"So what?" Maekar insisted as soon as the three of them were in the solar. "How are you going to treat her?"

The old man's eyes were trained on the hem of his robes. "I'll send potions for bathing the lesion and teas to suppress the pain…"

"Yes, this," Maekar cut him off. "How are you going to remove the lesion?"

The silence of the Grand Maester was answer enough.

"Tell me at least something!" Maekar urged. "What could have brought this along?"

His insistence clearly disturbed the Grand Maester who started playing with his chain. Finally, he looked at Maekar and prepared to speak.

Once Mariah heard what he had to say, she realized why he had been so anxious.

"It's possible that the Princess' recent pregnancy has aggravated the condition. There isn't a more strained body than one of a woman with child. Perhaps that drew the problem from its lair."

Maekar actually stepped backward. The expression on his face was one that Mariah wouldn't forget any time soon. She drew a deep breath. "Thank you. You may go."

The old man was so eager to comply that he tripped in his own robes on his way to the door.

Once alone, Mariah and Maekar looked at each other. They were both entertaining the same thought. "He has no idea what he's talking about," Maekar said. "There must be someone who is versed in women's illnesses – somewhere in the bloody Citadel!"

"If so, we'll find him," Mariah promised and reached for his hand. He squeezed back with such strength that the rings on her fingers cut deeply into her flesh. He apologized and Mariah was glad that she now had this excuse for her tears. Years ago, she had seen one of her mother's handmaidens die of the corroding disease. Her breast had looked much like what she imagined Dyanna's would look after a while. Thinking of her vibrant, vivacious goodaughter, thinking of her meeting the same end when she was at least forty years younger than the woman in question had been was more than Mariah's heart could take.

"Come on," she urged. "You can see me off."

He readily accepted the chance to walk outside for a while and they started through the flower garden with night white blooms. Dyanna often stopped to admire them… had stopped to admire them. Mariah scolded herself when she realized that she had just thought about Dyanna as if she were lost already. Maekar pressed her hand a little more and she realized that despite everything, he was grateful for her being there.

She squeezed back, thinking of what would happen if it turned out to be what they all feared. What about the children? What about Maekar? She couldn't remember the last thing her son had wished to receive something from her – or his father. Mariah still didn't know if he feared a refusal or actually being granted what he wanted. Dyanna had been the only thing he had wanted in a way that he had made very clear even before he knew it. Perhaps _because_ he hadn't known it. That had been Mariah's reason to choose the daughter of the Torentine. How had she been to know that she'd break her son's heart? _Who would have thought that Maekar Targaryen had a heart to brea_ k, evil tongues would no doubt wisecrack.

In the night, his hair shone the colour of the moon above. Silver, instead of the more common Targaryen silver-gold. He walked in the moonlight with more confidence than he did in the sun. Had he finally accepted the place in the shadow that the world had allotted him by the virtue of him being born last, by the virtue of that missing piece of his character? She had never been able to say what it was but she knew that he lacked it. He was clever, he was determined and hardworking, he was about to be a great warrior soon. Loyal, dutiful, honourable… and yet this small thing that Mariah didn't have a name for, the thing that drew people to someone and had them stay wasn't there with him. Oh, it wasn't as if he was totally irrelevant. After all, he had accomplishments. He had wits. He had the Targaryen good looks. But at the end, none of this mattered. Mariah could look up and see the moon above. It was real, it was there. But when the sun blazed into the sky, she would no longer see it. No one would.

Only Dyanna had never cared. It simply didn't matter to her. With her, Maekar was happy. Comfortable. Accepted without comparisons that always made him come up the loser. And they were both still nineteen. There were two weeks left to Maekar's twentieth nameday.

"You don't believe what he said – about the babe, do you?" Mariah asked. "He was scrambling for something to say. He doesn't know how to help her and he certainly doesn't know how it all started."

"Before she got with child, there was no growth," her son replied. "You can trust me, there wasn't one."

* * *

The first thing that stroked the King as out of order was the fact that the wetnurse wasn't anywhere in sight. Babes of royal birth were never left unattended – either the mother or a nursemaid was with them even as they slept. In Aerion's case, that was even more expected because the mother was now bedridden. But the wetnurse wasn't there. Only Maekar and the babe.

Daeron started to say something, to ask if the babe was sleeping sound but something in his son's posture made his blood curdle upon the spot. In the side of Maekar's face that Daeron could see, there was something dark, something… full of hate. The arms that slowly reached into the depths of the cradle were not the loving hands of a father. Rather, they resembled claws ready to rip skin apart. And then Maekar abruptly rose to his full height and stepped backward, away from the cradle, as if he was afraid to stay near.

"By the Seven, what are you doing?" Daeron asked sharply and Maekar spun around.

"I… I don't know."

"Is that so?" The King's voice was both shocked and full of disbelief as he hurried for the cradle. His knees turned to water with relief when he saw his grandson looking curiously at him, spreading his arms to be lifted. In the light of what Mariah had told him, Daeron could imagine what his son had been up to. He had never thought him capable of such a thing. But then, people, even the most loved ones, could always surprise you. "I don't have time for Maekar right now," Daeron had snapped to the well-meaning suggestions that he started taking his youngest to his meetings with the Small Council, merchants and foreign ambassadors. Busy to repair the damages his father had wreaked upon the kingdom, he had spent years without actually paying much attention to what Maekar did. The maesters praised his grasp of his studies, the masters who taught him his arms were thrilled to have him after the disappointments Aerys and Rhaegel had turned out to be and Daeron had been pleased. No need to look closer when he barely find the time to fit all his tasks in his schedule. There had never been any unpleasant surprises on Maekar's part. Not then, not where Daeron finally had time to spare for a further look – which made the surprise of this morning even worse. Surely Maekar hadn't meant to…? Daeron couldn't really finish this thought. He could only wish, belatedly, that he had found that time years ago, so he would know if…

"I wasn't going to do anything to him," Maekar suddenly said. "I was just…" He spread his arms helplessly. "I wasn't me."

Daeron sighed and his eyes became soft. "I know. I know it's very hard for you. Now go and rest – the whole day. That's an order. Just take care of Dyanna and yourself." He paused. "But the children will be moved to our chambers. Your mother will take excellent care of them."

Maekar was a very honest man. He didn't try to insist that it had been a one-time accident. There was relief in his voice. "I'll also feel more easy this way. And Dyanna will accept the explanation." He hesitated. "But she'll never…?"

"Not from me," his father promised with the dark feeling of foreboding. He hadn't seen Dyanna yet – she didn't want any visitors – but from what Mariah had told him, from the behavior Maekar was now displaying, he thought that _never_ might be a very short time indeed.

 


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone who commented, you're a great inspiration. Special thanks to Baelorfan for the nice thoughtful comment of the last chapter.

When the Queen entered the solar, Dyanna rose eagerly from her chair, only to reel back, her body protesting against the abrupt motion. Lately, simple things like walking more than a few minutes without a break had started taking their toll on her body but her joyful anticipation was too big.

It was a nice bright morning and Dyanna had had her windows thrown wide open to admit the sun and the scent of the garden she had ordered planted in their part of the Red Keep. Dyanna herself had planted the lilacs, the star-kisses, the roses that now emitted heavy aroma of sweetness so rich that it was almost bitter, so red that it was almost black, like the roses themselves. She had shocked many a courtier with this manual work of hers – but she had been happy, making a home for Maekar and herself, and the babe that had started growing in her womb almost instantaneously.

"Come here," she said, opening her arms wide as soon as she got her breath under control.

Daeron made a step forward but at the last moment hesitated and instead clung to his grandmother's skirt. Fear grasped Dyanna's heart and squeezed it shut like the demon did her breast ever so often. It had only been a week! Could he have started to forget her already? He was three. He couldn't have forgotten who his mother was, could he? No matter how rare and short their meetings had become as she turned increasingly feeble.

"Go, Daeron," Mariah urged. "Go to your mother."

He did so but his reluctance was visible. Tears sprang to Dyanna's eyes and she angrily wiped them with her palm. Of course he wouldn't want to go to the pale spectre that was she. From this close, the aroma of flowers under her window and the many vases in the solar could not mask the stench of her diseased breast. Her son was scared of her now. When she embraced him, though, his unwilling arms soon squeezed her as hard as she remembered from the day she had first found the growth, the day her life had turned into darkness, as cold as the desert of Dorne at night, as barren as its red sands. For a moment, she squeezed back and then pushed him away as the pain robbed her of her sight.

"What is this that I'm hearing about you throwing blood oranges at the Hand of the King?" she asked sternly.

He looked down and tried to look properly contrived without much success. Probably because he felt his mother was secretly amused by this particular mischief. "I am sorry," he said.

_He's becoming a good liar_ , Dyanna thought. Of course, he couldn't fool a fellow soul but she wasn't inclined to spoil her time with him by scolding him, although she knew he needed it.

"Don't do it again," she said warningly. "Now, go and find a place for your favourite dragon. I'll tell you a story soon."

Now, she turned her attention to the babe. She didn't try to take him in her arms, partly out of fear that she'd drop him and partly because of his crying each time she tried. In turn, that could reduce her to tears as well. She only drew her finger across his nose and mouth and smiled when he started sucking. Then, she nodded at the girl to place him in the cradle next to her and the wetnurse retired to a stool in the corner.

Dyanna started telling the story of a bush of berries and a hungry bear but she could say that she wasn't as good as usual. When she was miserable, there were no new stories in her head and those she knew came out pained. Not that Daeron recognized it. He was simply happy to be with her.

"The maester arrived," Maekar told her this afternoon as he undressed. "Tomorrow, we'll know more."

For a moment, hope arose. "Yes," she agreed eagerly and then went quiet again. What was there to see? Soon, the sore would engulf most of her breast. All was so blatantly clear…

* * *

This maester, a man in his fourties with delicate hands and a soft voice, was more in possession of his instinctive reaction than the Grand Maester, although the sight he encountered was a more terrifying one.

"It doesn't look good indeed," he said calmly. "Your Grace, do you have a kinswoman suffering from such a lesion? Think well."

Dyanna obeyed and as she thought, Mariah and Jena exchanged a look at the foot of the bed. Why hadn't she denied immediately? But finally, Dyanna slowly shook her head. "I don't think so," she said. "At least, I don't know of such a kin."

He nodded. "That's good. Perhaps it isn't the corroding disease, then." He paused. "I must examine your entire breast now, Your Grace. Be ready, for it will hurt."

Dyanna's eyes went wide and almost black when he touched the smooth part of her skin. To the other people in the bedchamber, his fingers barely applied any pressure at all but she felt it like rocks crushing her under immense weight. And when he pressed further, her eyes started rolling, her teeth bared and she barely contained a scream. When the weight increased further yet, she couldn't even open her mouth to scream; for a moment, the Queen thought that she'd break her teeth with grinding or perhaps she'd bite her tongue off.

Clearly, Maekar harboured the same fears because he made a step from his place at the bedpost. "Open your mouth," he said but Dyanna didn't seem to have heard him, let alone heed him.

Maester Gudwin blinked in surprise but didn't say a thing.

"What are you doing?" Mariah snapped.

Her son didn't even look at her. Instead, he used the dagger he was holding to force Dyanna's teeth open and pushed his hand between them. In the throes of raging pain, Dyanna bit him savagely but he didn't remove his hand until the maester was over with inspecting her breasts. Only then did he take it out and as Dyanna lay panting down, he shook the blood off his hand and they all saw that she had almost bitten flesh off.

"When did she first notice the lump?" the man turned to Mariah since it was clear that Dyanna could not utter anything.

"When her babe was just a few weeks old," she replied, looking at Maekar for confirmation.

The maester seemed torn. "It's strange," he said. "It does look like the corroding disease but Her Grace is so young. She has no cases of it in her family. And she did manage to give birth safely… I suppose the babe is healthy?" he asked.

"Very," Mariah replied as Jena dabbed the sweat from Dyanna's face. Behind the door, there was probably a bunch of servants huddling to hear what was going on. By now, everyone knew that Dyanna was unwell, but the nature of her ailment was known only to selected few.

"That doesn't compute with the disease," the maester said. "And I didn't find any other growths while normally, there are at least a few tiny lumps."

"Perhaps they're under the lesion?" Maekar asked reluctantly.

"It's possible," the man agreed and paused, looking thoughtful. "What colour was her milk, do you know?"

Maekar shrugged. "Like any milk. White… and plenty."

"That's strange… but I haven't really observed the advance of it in young women. I don't know what to say, Your Grace. It looks like it… but I am not sure."

Maekar and Mariah looked at each other. He was better than the Grand Maester… but not good enough.

The man's eyes moved back to the young woman lying with her eyes closed and her chest heaving. She would die, there was no doubt about that, if the right treatment was not undertaken… but he didn't know what the right treatment was.

"Listen," he suddenly said, talking as easily as he would have to his family in the Reach. "I am sorry that I cannot truly help Her Grace. But I know someone who has much more experience than me in women's ailments. I believe that if something can be done, she'll know it."

A _she_? The woman in question had never studied in the Citadel, no doubt. But wise women in some villages knew much about those things. Nothing this serious, though.

"So what?" Maekar finally asked. "Where should I fetch her from?"

"The Free Cities," the man finally replied. "The Red Temple," he elaborated and Mariah and Maekar just stared.

* * *

She arrived when the sun was going down and the commander of the port had just had the lighthouse lit to signify that from now on, every new ship was barred from entering until dawn. Later, the rumour had it that the red woman had insisted that the captain take her to the commander's very dwelling and somehow convinced him to grant her access. Some added that she had threatened her to burn his apartments with the fire erupting from her bare hands and others insisted that she had promised him a night devoid of sleep. Anyway, she entered the Red Keep just the moment before darkness closed, reaching its blackest, bluish depths, and she demanded to be taken to the Queen herself.

"We're very happy to receive you, my lady," Mariah said after she had dismissed all of her ladies. "Please take a seat. How was your journey?"

The woman smiled. She was very young indeed and for a moment, Mariah thought that there had been a mistake. But something in those dark eyes on a girl's face told her that not all was what it looked like. The newcomer was disturbingly red to her eye – red robes, red hair, a red ruby on her forehead and two other at her temples. If the Queen had the time, she would have tried to see if the girl's hair was dyed. But she had none.

"It was a good journey, Your Grace," the newcomer replied, taking the offered chair. "Good winds and blue sea. And when we arrived, there was no delay in escorting me here."

Mariah nodded. "Good," she said. "You know why we sent for you."

The young woman nodded. "I'll go and see the Princess first thing tomorrow."

The Queen's first instinct was to insist that they go now but she reminded herself that with Raniel of Volantis still exhausted from the journey, it might be no good at all. "Very well, we have your rooms ready."

The door opened abruptly and Maekar entered with Daeron, bringing him back after the child's visit to his mother – another very brief one. Soon, they'd have to curb those even more, as to not upset both him and Dyanna.

Mariah shook her head and Maekar went back out without saying anything. But the young woman was staring at the door with a mix of horror and awe.

"That was Prince Maekar," Mariah said sharply, suddenly scared that the girl might decide to share the thoughts lurking behind this smooth wide forehead of hers. "My son. He… he'll be very obliged to you if you can help."

All of a sudden, Raniel rose. "Let's go and see Her Grace now," she said; stunned by her sudden change of heart, Mariah followed.

Dyanna's old nursemaid drew a deep breath when she saw the red woman; only reluctantly did she obey the Queen's command to step aside and even when she did, it was barely enough to let Raniel stand by the bed. Lips pressed in a tight line, arms folded across her chest, she watched like a hawk as the red woman stared at her little girl. "She's sleeping," she said militantly. "You should not wake her up."

"I won't," Raniel promised, still staring at Dyanna with intensity that made Mariah uneasy. And then, she turned back and nodded that she was ready to leave. Startled, Mariah noticed how white her face was.

* * *

"It _is_ the corroding disease."

The young woman's voice was soft but final and Dyanna felt almost relieved that finally, someone was willing to engage with a definitive statement. At least now she knew. And then the gravity of it hit her like a brick. To this moment, she still hadn't realized that she had been holding to hope despite everything. Without thinking, she reached out and clung to Maekar's hand, the same one that she had almost chewed through. He squeezed back.

"I guess that when you were with child and early after birth, your condition masked the symptoms," Raniel of Volantis went on. There was sympathy in her voice that made Dyanna's tears run faster. "But they've been there for a while. You probably thought it was normal to feel tension there."

"So it wasn't because of the babe."

The relief in Maekar's voice was so profound that Dyanna looked at him, surprise cutting out on the surface through the fear and pain. Would it have mattered if it had been? To him, it would have, it seemed, and that made her shiver with pain coming from the heart and not the breast, pain and relief for both him and their new son.

"No," Raniel said confidently. "I can see why people would think it was. But indeed I believe it was just a coincidence. Or rather, if the child had anything to do with it, it brought out something that would have happened soon enough anyway. The Princess would have suffered it in a few years, at most."

Dyanna closed her eyes, trying to let the words dooming her slip by. But she couldn't ignore the relief in her husband's voice when he asked, "So, you think it will save her?"

"I am sure," Raniel answered and then, honest beyond belief, added, "For now, at least."

"You have treated such breasts before and succeeded?"

"Not always," the red woman admitted and smiled. "But with Her Grace, it will be a success. There aren't any other lumps. And I have a reason to believe that she'll be preserved."

"Believe? Or know?" Maekar insisted sharply. Dyanna had already given up on trying to make sense.

"Both." Raniel smiled again. "Your marriage is the world's destiny."

She didn't look all too happy for it. In fact, she looked as if she wasn't sure that she even liked either of them very much. And yet her sympathy for Dyanna was obvious. Dyanna closed her eyes and let them make the arrangements that pain did not let her follow in detail. Whatever it took, she'd do it. She wanted to live.

* * *

And yet at the very eve of the treatment fear was about to get the better of her. She had heard men having a limb amputated scream something horrible. Cutting this thing off her breast might save her from death and rot but it would mangle her breast anyway. The pain of the procedure would be excruciating. And it might not even help. The growth and sore might come back after the torture she'd be put through.

"What can I do for you, Dyanna?" Maekar asked after watching her turn in bed over again and again. "How can I help you?"

"Just hold me," she whispered, finally giving voice to the fear of the torture that awaited her the next morning.

Silently, he did. And despite not admitting it, she felt his own fear. Unlike every other night, now she felt that he was cold as death, as if the Stranger had brushed a pale hand against him when reaching to grab her.

* * *

She dreamed of the pain for weeks, of the moment it cut through the huge amounts of the milk of poppy they had poured into her, when her eyes snapped wide open and she tried to rise but there was a shadow, a weight sitting upon her legs; she tried to push away the knife cutting into her breast but at her arms there were other weights; for a few moments, she felt the ten fingers pressing her head back down before she started gagging and suffocating in her own spit. She didn't know what happened later.

The next few days? weeks? were a blur of pain, daze and moments of astonishing clarity, images that would stay forever seared in her mind. Maekar lifting her from the bed as someone changed her soiled sheets, the disgusting smell making her gag; the woman in red nodding gravely; the younger maester looking at her bare breast, awe on his face; Mariah leaning over the bed; the King saying something to Maekar who was shaking his head in refusal. Between those, candles were lit, sunlight emerged, only to be stifled behind heavy curtains, and everyone changed clothes.

And then, one day, she woke up. The pain was severe but manageable. Elanal smiled in greeting, rising from her chair near the bed. "Welcome back," she said.

"Maekar?" Dyanna murmured through her cracked lips and her nursemaid hastened to give her some water.

"He just went to bathe, that's all. He'll be back soon. They decided to stop the milk of poppy," she said, preempting Dyanna's question. Tears glistened in her eyes as she stroked the young woman's hair. "They said you were better. And you are."

There was no way for anyone to know it yet, Dyanna knew. But she had survived the brutal cutting and the cauterization after that. She had gone through the worst of the pain. She really was afraid to ask what her breast looked like now and it shamed her that she even thought about that – but she did.

"But until he comes," Elanal said, "there is someone else who can't wait to see you. He's been nagging us for days."

Dyanna knew who he was and she smiled when her son was brought into the room. Under Mariah's watchful eye, he didn't quite jump onto his mother's bed but once he was up there, he wrapped his arms around her and squeezed her so hard that she saw the Sword of the Morning and all the other constellations galloping against her as he pressed against the bandage and the tender breast under it.

Her goodmother immediately pulled him away. "No," she said sternly. "You're giving your mother's pain."

"No," he said. "She's healthy already. The evil thing is no longer there. They took it away."

How Dyanna hoped that he was right! She threw her cover away and she, Elanal and the Queen all stared at her nightgown. When the linen remained unstained by red, Dyanna drew the cover back and held out a hand. "Here," she said. "Come. Just on this side."

Daeron agreed readily and snuggled against her, talking incessantly. He didn't seem to notice how ill his mother still looked, how thin her voice was. When he finally ran out of words, he looked at her. "Tell me a story," he said.

Dyanna smiled. "Very well, I'll tell you the story of a bear and the maiden not so fair…"

Her goodmother laughed.

"Open the windows," Dyanna told Elanal. "I want to breathe the flowers in."

Perhaps the Stranger had looked the other way. Perhaps this time, she'd have the chance to live with the scent of flowers and not rot.

* * *

"Here. Let me."

Dyanna looked at her husband and felt the chill of fear crawling down her back, whispering threatening lies in tune with the breeze coming from the open window. "No," she said.

"Yes," Maekar corrected and then sighed impatiently. "I cannot understand them at all, those stupid things that are running in your head right now. I've seen you after the procedure, remember? I was here for each changing of the bandage. Seven hells, I even changed some of them myself. _What_ are you afraid of?"

He was tactful enough not to mention that he had seen her smeared with her own excrements, although Dyanna knew for sure that this was the case. Oh she knew that her apprehensions were stupid but they felt so strong, so real. Silently, she turned her back to him so he could untie the strings.

Her first look into the looking glass elicited a faint whimper. Her breast looked distorted, smaller than the other one, a badly botched embroidery more than anything else. But when she forced herself to look harder, she went faint with relief, leaning against Maekar because her legs could no longer support her weight. On her pale bruised, sewn back skin there was no sore. Not a hint of lesion. Slowly, carefully she fingered her breast thoroughly, biting her lips from the pain. She could feel no excrescence, nothing. Just the promise of life and healing. Her eyes welled up.

"What now?" Maekar demanded, quite uncomprehending. "I'll never get you women. When you're miserable, you cry; when you're happy, you cry. Don't tell me it's different," he went on before she could say it. "They're all wet and make me feel disturbed."

"That's because you're just a bear," Dyanna sniffed, reaching back to wrap his arms around her waist. "A silly bear posing as a dragon."

"If you say so," he murmured.

From the outside, the breeze carried to them the scent of roses and hope.

**The End**

 


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